Housewarming
by Penguin
Summary: Harry and Draco are looking for a flat in Muggle London, but nothing seems to please Harry. H/D


**Disclaimer**: Based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros.,Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Note: **Written for and first posted in the One Chocolate Frog a Day advent calendar.

**HOUSEWARMING**

by Penguin

Draco looked at Harry, Harry shook his head, and they left the flat. It was the fourth repeat of the situation that day, and the millionth, or so it felt, that week.

Out in the street again, Draco turned to Harry, white with exasperation:

"What's the _matter_ with you?"

Cars rushed past them in a noisy, never-ending stream, and a grey drizzle fell from a grey sky. The entire city seemed wrapped in a claustrophobic smell of damp stone, old cooking oil, exhaust fumes and wet wool.

Harry shrugged apologetically. He felt miserable.

"I don't know, Draco. It's just not right."

They had had this conversation so many times they were both bored before they had even started, but they continued anyway. It was like a ritual that had to be acted out for each episode to be finished and closed.

"Not _right?_ I don't see what could possibly be _wrong_. What exactly is it you're looking for? That place was the best one we've seen so far. Plenty of space, two bedrooms, high windows, good insulation, a pretty fireplace in the sitting room… and a reasonable price, too." Draco's pallor was being replaced by a desperate, angry flush. "As reasonable as prices ever get in London," he added peevishly.

"Yeah. I know. But it wasn't right."

That was all Harry could say. He didn't know what he was looking for. Except that he was pretty sure it wasn't visual - it wasn't something he literally _looked_ for. It was more a feeling, a general atmosphere. Something that spoke to him. They had looked at perhaps twenty flats now, and he hadn't found it anywhere.

Draco was tired and irritable; he was probably hungry, too. He had turned his face away from Harry, and even his back said sod off. Harry wanted to put an arm round his shoulders, turn him around and kiss him and tell him it was okay, they would take the flat, they would sign the contract tomorrow and right now, this instant, they would go some place and get warm and have something to eat. But he couldn't do it, and not only because Draco would refuse to kiss in the street.

The too-familiar conversation dragged on.

"It'll be Christmas in a month - we have to find somewhere to stay." Draco turned and stared defiantly at Harry, eyes blazing. "You know, next time you turn down a perfectly good flat, I'll take it myself. You can go ahead and find something of your own. After the past week, I'm not so sure I want to live with you anyway. You're doing my head in."

There was nothing to say. Harry put his cold hands in his pockets, huddled against the chill, and looked hopelessly out over the stream of traffic. Dusk was falling and the headlights of passing cars sliced into the drizzle. Shop signs and neon lights glittered, glared and flashed, and a few doors away someone stumbled out from a pub, singing waveringly and out of tune.

"Harry…"

The drizzle turned into rain.

"Harry. Don't look like that. I didn't mean it. Let's go somewhere and eat. We'll look at that flat with the bay window tomorrow."

It was the last one of all the flats they had marked with red ink in the paper. Harry met Draco's eyes and stretched out a hand to brush wet hair from Draco's face. They gave each other a faint smile through the rain; a peace offering.

x x x*

It was a tall, white-fronted house in a quiet street just off the busy shopping streets. Trees lined the pavement, and the glass globes of streetlights glowed like a row of small moons under the cloudy skies.

Draco and Harry entered through the black, brass-knockered door, walked up narrow, carpeted stairs and unlocked the door to flat no. 5 with the key they had just been given.

It was a two-bedroom flat with smallish rooms, the bedrooms overlooking a small but pleasant back yard with cobblestones, a big lime tree, some now empty flowerbeds and a green bench encircling the base of the tree.

There was a small, elegant fireplace in the larger bedroom, and a more impressive and ornate one in the sitting room. The boys' steps echoed on the varnished oak parquet floors. Harry looked up at the stucco ornaments at the centre of the sitting room ceiling that marked the place for a chandelier.

Draco threw a cautious glance at him, dreading the well-known shake of the head. Instead, Harry met his eyes and smiled.

"Yes," he said.

Draco stared at him, not quite daring to believe it.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"But - " Draco went over to the bay window and sat down on the window seat. "I don't understand," he said weakly. "What does this place have that the others didn't? It's smaller than the one we saw yesterday, and it's almost a hundred pounds more a month. Oh, it's nice and all," he said when Harry opened his mouth to protest, "it's really nice and I like it a lot. But why is this one so much better than all the others?"

"It speaks to me," Harry said.

His face had lost the strained look from the past few days and was soft and smiling. Draco felt weak both with relief and with love for the young man who stood in the middle of the room in a scarecrow position, arms outstretched as if to measure the space, or embrace it.

"It speaks to you? Harry, this is a Muggle house. It can't speak. It doesn't know how to. It's not like a magical mirror."

"I didn't mean it actually talks to me in words. There's just something about the air here, the atmosphere. I'd be happy here. _We_ would be."

He let his arms fall and took a few quick steps up to Draco, lifted Draco's chin with two fingers and bent down to kiss the upturned face.

Draco sat on the window seat with his eyes closed and felt Harry's lips on his forehead, nose, eyelids, cheeks, chin, and finally, softly, his mouth. He slid his fingers into Harry's hair and kissed him back, with warmth that came from love, relief and wonder. He didn't understand Harry; he never had, but it wasn't necessary. As long as they could kiss like this, they didn't need to understand every thought in each other's head.

They walked slowly through the empty rooms again in silence, hand in hand. It wasn't until they were about to leave that Draco noticed the pattern of the stucco borders on the ceiling and around the door frames: It was lilies, stylized and intertwined in an intricate pattern, dancing along doors and walls. He glanced at Harry and wondered if it could possibly be this detail that spoke to his deepest, most sentimental core; spoke to him about his early childhood and a love that had been greater than death.

They signed the contract that afternoon, and took possession of the flat well in time for Christmas.


End file.
